Sunday, December 25, 2011

As a child growing up in South Florida
I had the good fortune of living on a 10-acre rural sanctuary for primates
operated by my parents. The property was covered with native Slash Pines (Pinus elliotti), Cabbage Palms (Sabal palmetto) and Live Oaks (Quercus virginiana) but was persistently threatened by the
noxious weed of a tree known asBrazilian
Pepper (Schinus terebinthifolis).
As a human primate I had far more freedoms than the other inhabitants and like
a modern day Jungle Boy I would often take to the trees and explore. There were
times when the property had become so overgrown with what some call “Florida
Holly” that I could ascend into the canopy of the pepper trees and climb from
tree to tree for several hundred feet.

The problem for a kid is you end up with ripped up jeans and
sticky sap all over you, as well as the possibility of a poison ivy-like rash.
The problem for the ecosystem is that the highly invasive tree has spread
throughout South Florida, establishing dense
monocultures where little else grows.

Brazilian Pepper was introduced to Florida sometime in the mid-1800s as an
ornamental. It grows natively in Brazil,
Argentina and Paraguay. In
Florida it flowers from September through November and by December has fire
engine red berries that express a festive spirit around the holiday season,
when Florida’s native hollies had already lost there rosy red fruit. Certainly
the intent upon introduction was not malicious, but 160 years later the tree is
so pervasive that we could easily deck the halls with boughs of pepper if only
it were legal to transport it.

Fortunately the tree is not cold tolerant. Unfortunately it
produces an abundance of berries that are perfect holiday snacks for birds and
mammals that digest them and poop them elsewhere with homemade fertilizer.

Every year at this time, the sight of the bright evergreen
leaves and candy cane red pepper berries brings me back to my days on the
sanctuary, either climbing in the trees or hacking them down with machete or
chainsaw.

I learned long ago that wherever I am for the holidays, I am
perfectly content to celebrate it by enjoying it with native style and
tradition. This year I’ll be enjoying the sun, the sand and berryless hollies.
Happy Holidays.

Saturday, December 24, 2011

There is no shortage of disparaging
labels cast upon the Double-crested
Cormorant (Phalacrocorax auritus).
The heavy-bodied, diving piscivore has been called a nuisance, a villain, a
monster and a fish terrorist, mostly by fishermen and mostly undeserved. I call
them nature’s graffiti artists. Their roost is their canvas. Their feces and
cloaca is their paint and paintbrush.

The name cormorant comes from the
Latin “corvus” and “marinus” or Raven of the Sea. Considering the large
congregations of birds that roost together, the fish-eating cormorant is seen
as a threat to anglers and the fish they seek. While studies have shown that
this threat is often exaggerated, cormorants can have an impact on the vegetation
they roost upon as well as the other species that might inhabit the same trees
(and usually lower than the canopy-loving cormorants).

Over the last few decades, the
cormorant population in North America has
dramatically increased, a heralded consequence of the ban of the harmful
pesticide DDT. Like most fish-eating birds, cormorants suffered the effects of
the chemical that bioaccumulated through the food chain and resulted in their
inability to lay eggs with sufficiently calcified shells. Cormorants, eagles,
osprey, pelicans and others would attempt to incubate their eggs and crush them
instead.

Here in South
Florida I have seen a colony of 40-50 cormorants routinely
roosting in the same Pond Apple (Annona glabra) trees and over
time, the acidic feces they leave behind has defoliated the trees. The herons
and egrets that might have nested here are forced to find a more suitable
location.

In the 10,000 islands of the
Everglades National Park, the cormorants, with hooked beak held high, sit upon
the channel markers and leave the tell tale white washing upon the signs,
inadvertent artistry that remains on display when the cormorants fly off and
then swim for a meal.

Call them vandals of vegetation if
you must but I prefer to look at the droppings left behind as a clue as to who
was here when the bird is not.

Friday, December 23, 2011

Why don’t cannibals eat clowns? Because they taste funny. The
same can be said for Monarch (Danaus plexippus), Queen (Danaus gilippus)and Soldier (Danaus eresimus) butterflies as well as other brightly colored showy
species. Most predatory species, particularly birds will avoid the flashy
flying insects because they do taste funny. Or awful. These three regal caterpillars
feed on milkweed which contains alkaloids which will be necessary for breeding
as adults and act as a chemical defense against predators. Once the caterpillar
goes through the metamorphic process, bright colors act as a reminder to
potential predators that these insects are poisonous. A predator may try one
once, but if it survives, and they usually do, they probably will not do it
again. This form of defense is known as aposemitism. If it’s brightly colored,
best to move on to something else on the buffet line.

And then there’s the Viceroy
(Limenitis archippus), orange
oligarch of the Lepidoptera and faker in the first degree. Viceroys are said to
effectively display Batesian mimicry. They look like the other poisonous
members of the king’s court but are they poisonous? It has been long believed
that they have evolved to look like a poisonous species which has provided them
the defense necessary to avoid predation. Although their larval form feeds on
host plants other than milkweed, it’s now thought that Viceroys may in fact be
poisonous themselves. If anything the Viceroy is the Jester playing predators and
naturalists the fool.

In the swamps of South Florida,
the Viceroy looks similar to the abundant Queen butterfly rather than the rare
Monarch. The individual that lit upon the back of the alligator prompted a
debate regarding its identification. While someone claimed Monarch, I insisted
Viceroy and pointed out the black band across the hind wing. They remained
insistent and I, the Jester, suggested they move closer for a better look.

Thursday, December 22, 2011

We can’t all be perfect. I dare say that no one is and the
same can be said for the greater animal kingdom. Most people know what a Black
Bear looks like. But not all Black Bears are black. Genetic mutations occur to
the benefit or detriment of the species and express themselves in such ways
such as color variations. The Kermode Bear, an all-white subspecies of the
Black Bear is found in British
Columbia. The Cinnamon Bear, a red-brown furred
subspecies is found in the Rockies. Thousands
of years ago mutations in their genes gave rise to populations of these
subspecies that are now unique and self-sustaining.

This brings me to the oddity hopping in a crosswalk in Immokalee, Florida.
From its shape, size and tail feathers I knew what it was immediately, but the
colors it was displaying looked as if someone had left an ink pen in the wash
with a pair of white underwear. Male Boat-tailed Grackles normally have
dazzling, iridescent blue-black plumage, but this one looked more like a
seagull mated with a crow in a tornado.

This is known as a “piebald” morph and can be expressed in
mammals, birds and reptiles. This grackle has a random assortment of skin and
feathers that lacks melanin. This is not to be confused with albinism which is
the complete lack of melanin or leucism which is a reduced amount of all
pigments. It is possible that this bird could mate and pass on the piebald gene
but the offspring will not retain the same pattern. The odds of finding a mate
are not good though. MaleBoat-tailed Grackles (Quiscalas major) have courtship duels to impress
the females and without the sexy iridescence, the piebald grackle probably
doesn’t stand a chance. Excessive whiteness can also cause issues with thermal
retention.

Take it for what you will, this grackle was dropping what I
assumed was food from a wire into the street and retrieving smaller bits after
cars had run it over. I know ravens and crows do this. It was fun to see this
grackle do it as well.

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

“I don’t know how you stand living in Florida. I need the seasons”. This is
typical response when people learn that I’m from Florida. Generally what they mean by
“seasons” is six to eight months of long cold nights, one month of rainy spring
and flooding, two months of grotesquely humid summer days and then eleven
magical days where the chlorophyll-pigmented adornments to woody vegetation
(leaves on trees), are awash in a wave of spectral undulations that lap at the
foliage over and over until it sucks the life from each beautiful leaf and
leaves them dead on the forest floor. I get it.

Having lived in Vermont
for 14 years I can understand the visual spectacle that is leaf peeping. I
appreciate the stillness and solitude of a billion snowflakes falling all
around me in a moonlight hayfield. I love the notion that a 60 degree spring
rain is a warm rain and the ephemeral flowers come and go too quickly. And it
may be only two or three hot months of summer but after a long cold winter I
can deal with 90 days of listening to someone ask me “Is it hot enough for ya?”

I get Florida
too. The changes are just as subtle and vary from region to region and coast to
coast. In the Everglades we have our seasons.
Wet and dry are the most obvious but we have the changing of the leaves as
well. For a few short weeks the Red Maples (Acer rubrum)and Willows (Salix
sp.) slow their production of chlorophyll, revealing the carotene
pigments that display oranges, xanthophyll pigments that show yellows and red
producing lycopenes.

The feathery leaves of the deciduous conifer Bald Cypress (Taxodium distichum)will brown and fall to the ground,
explaining the tree’s name. Nighttime temperatures will dip from the 60’s into
the 40’s. The swamp will cool for a few months and to us Floridians it’ll get
downright chilly. Someone will ask “Cold enough for ya?”

Monday, December 19, 2011

Having just returned from a Thanksgiving vacation in Massachusetts, I had
hoped to write about something uniquely New Englandy. To me the greater Boston area is all about
clams, lobsters, shorebirds and cranberry bogs. Granted it’s a narrow, stereotypical
view but if I could expand my limited expectations then my trip would be a
success.

Unfortunately I only spotted a few dumpster gulls and a
couple of Deer Ticks (Ixodes scapularis).I probably should have gotten out more.
But you know how Thanksgiving is. It’s all about the thanking and the eating
and despite picking up a cold on the plane ride up (thanks open air sneezer in
seat 24A!) I still managed to eat more than any normal person should at any
given meal. It’s a funny thing, I don’t need to eat so much. I just want to and
this makes me wonder how much joy a snake gets when it consumes a feast much
larger than it appears it should.

A few years ago I was leading a summer camp in Vermont. A couple of
kids heard a strange noise in the woods, called me over and we discovered a Common Gartersnake (Thamnophis sirtalis)eating
aGreen Frog (Lithobates clamitans). Several kids were horrified but for the
most part there was great interest in the likelihood that this slender snake
could eat this wide-bodied and seemingly unflappable frog. The snake
meticulously maneuvered its ever widening mouth to position the frog into an
easy transition down its throat.

Once in the intestine, the gartersnake has the ability to
elevate its metabolic rate, increase enzyme activity and blood flow to the
digestive system and increase the mass of the intestine, liver and kidney to
aid in removing and storing nutrients from its prey. It can just as quickly
reverse all of these functions and revert to normal conditions. Ultimately the
quick digestive process prevents a snake from slithering about with a large
meal in its belly.

No such luck for me on Thanksgiving. My digestive system is
used to a pattern of thrice-a-day feedings and I had clearly overwhelmed my
system. Happy Belated Thanksgiving.

I was wrong. I can admit it. Normally I would say “I don’t know what that is.” but in this case I was quite sure that the Wood Stork (Mycte...

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Hey! Look at me!

I was born and raised just west of the Everglades. Growing up at the Florida Monkey Sanctuary, a 10-acre, private non-profit organization owned and operated by my parents.
My experience at the sanctuary involved not only working with hundreds of primates of various species, but also provided the opportunity to become immersed in the natural history of the area, where the sanctuary alone was home to Sandhill Cranes, Wood Storks, Indigo Snakes, River Otters and abundance of other native wildlife. Leaving the subtropics for colder climates, I attended the University of Vermont and graduated with a BS in Wildlife and Fisheries Biology. I returned to southwestern Florida and guided for the Everglades Day Safari from 1998-2000 before once again trading sandals for snowshoes in Vermont where I worked for six years as a Park Ranger at Lowell Lake State Park in Londonderry, VT. and for several years as the Director of the Vermont Institute of Natural Science in Manchester, VT.
Now I'm back in Florida and I’ve returned with a vengeance, which I keep caged like an angry monkey with a bucket full of poop and deadly accuracy.